A Hero's Passing
by femalegamer
Summary: Everything ends someday, and today was his.


Title: A Hero's Passing

Rating: Everyone

Characters: Dog, Cousland/Alistair (not relationship focused)

Summary: Everything ends someday, and today was his.

When she woke that morning, she knew that today was the day; there was a clenching in her stomach that had no explanation. The air felt very still and buffered the sound of both birds and the bustling capital around the palace.

She was going to lose her oldest friend today. It had been some time coming, so it was no surprise, but she still began to quietly cry into her husband's warm shoulder. He still slept and she did not wake him. She dried her tears on the crisp, expensive sheets and left the royal apartments in her dressing gown. She padded down the quiet corridor and it hit her just how early it truly was. She saw few servants and retainers, mainly the ever-vigilant guards and those cleaning the most public areas of the palace. Her bare feet did not add to the noise. She seemed to be invisible; no one acknowledged that she passed.

She went to the kitchens. She knew she would find him in the kitchens. As she felt the warmth of the bread ovens doing the days baking hit her, she felt a surprising pang of an older grief. It had been five years since the massacre, but a part of her still expected to see her Nan sitting in the kitchen. She rubbed at her eyes and tried desperately to remember what the old woman's voice had sounded like.

The head cook for the palace was a much younger woman than Nan, barely older than she was herself. Brona slid the last of the large boards, heavy with raw dough, into the oven and wiped her face with the edge of her apron. While her head was down, she slipped past unnoticed into the larder, much larger even than the one in Highever.

He lay, as she expected, on a pile of mostly empty sacks, and opened tired eyes to glance her way. He closed them tiredly, but knew she was there; his tail thumped twice on the stone floor and then stilled again.

The instant her hand touched his head, she knew that she was right; he felt cool, far too cool, even for a dog hiding in a stone walled larder in the depths of a castle in early spring. His tail thumped again and he turned his head into her hand. She scratched at his mottled brown fur, feeling the ridges of various scars. His fur felt coarser, though he'd never had the fine hair of the some the lapdog breeds. He'd definitely grayed in the last few years. His eyes did not open, but he breathed deeply and sighed. She settled down, heedless of the cold stone even with the not-nearly-warm-enough nightgown and wrap. She wedged herself as close as she could, carefully putting as much of her dressing gown over him as she could, trying to share her warmth.

"I remember when you were just a pup, Brindle. I was able to hold you in my arms – and I did. I was the first one to find Tara and her pups, and decided you were going to be mine, ugly though you were then. Tara had already been up and around, but no one had managed to find the pups yet. I was twelve years old, and I thought about what I would want if I had just had a litter of puppies," she spoke to him just as she would another human.

She paused and tried not to think of _that_ particular sorrow. It had been five years. Fergus had finally bowed to the inevitable and married; he wasn't in love, but he was considerate of his new wife's feelings. She looked nothing like Oriana. There would be much discussion in the coming years as to whether his two year old son or one of Teagan's children would be declared heir, or one of the dozens of other noble children in the realm. She shook her head and tried harder.

"First I brought her a blanket that I spread on the cold stone floor – a floor much like this one. And a bowl of water, not too chilled. Finally, I brought her meat. That was the first part that got me in trouble, because I didn't get scrap leftovers from the kitchen, I brought a fresh joint of prime beef that was going to grace the high table that evening. Because of my meddling, they ended up having pork loin, much less fancy. I… I don't recall who was visiting that evening." But she did remember, and she refused to associate such a fine memory with the arl, so she pretended otherwise.

"That last did it, you know. She was tearing into the fine, aged beef when you responded to my calls and detached yourself from your own supper. You were all of three weeks old, with wet blue eyes, and you wobbled when you walked, but you came over and put your head on my ankle, and that was it. You were mine. Or I was yours, if you prefer, "she chuckled and let him lick her hand possessively.

From there, she went on to stories where he filched his own meals from the kitchen, how he slept on the end of her bed at night until there wasn't room for them both. She remembered the time he stuck his nose under Oriana's skirts and how high the fine lady had jumped. She spoke of arguing her way into real weapons training, and then arguing that they should be trained together, as a team.

She reflected on bringing him with her to the Landsmeet:

"They asked me about that later, you know, Alistair and Eamon. I mean, who else could I bring – you, Alistair and Wynne. Should I bring the former Orleisian spy, the convicted murderer – who's also a Qunari – or the Antivan assassin? Or maybe the animated rock pile? Or the red-haired diplomatic incident waiting to happen? Half dressed rogue mage? You, my beauty, I could trust not to get us in trouble."

And then there were stories after the war with the Blight. How he was found with his teeth securely around the arm of a page trying to steal a taste of wedding cake. How he almost wouldn't let Alistair approach her that night.

Her voice had gone hoarse and she was starting to rehash the old tales when Alistair finally found her. She knew he was coming soon; an assistant cook had begun to come in for something and abruptly withdrew at the sight of the queen in her nightgown sitting on a flour sack next to a mabari hound.

Brindle was long gone by then, of course. He had given another one of those long sighs and run off, leaving his graying, aged body behind. It wasn't until Alistair knelt down next to her and put those still so strong arms around her that she finally let the tears fall again. He didn't say anything, recognizing death when he saw it, and merely stroked her hair.

This was Ferelden, where dogs, especially Mabari, were honored as they should be. He would not be forgotten.

Author's Notes:

Firstly, per an interview in the DA Wiki, the body shape of Mabari is based on the American Bandogge Mastiff, on which I based the Mabari's lifespan. My calculations: I had the dog born when the warden was twelve, I made her twenty when the game starts, more or less. Depending on how long the game takes, it's 5-6 years since then. Brindle is then on the old side for his breed. I make the assumption that being exposed to the taint does not shorten their lifespan.

I was inspired to write this today because I have a kitty at the vet's office; no reports yet on why she's unwell, but it made me think about the emotional attachments we develop to our pets.


End file.
